


Dancing in the Rain

by xXCrimsonBlueXx



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:59:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1577654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXCrimsonBlueXx/pseuds/xXCrimsonBlueXx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of interconnected oneshots set in an alternate universe. To deter tag clogging, only already written ships are tagged: look at the table of contents to see all ships.</p><p>Chapter 2: Phoenix Feathers</p><p>It was a tiny flicker. The wind had complete control, swaying left, right. But there was barely any wind here.</p><p>Feliks was enamored.</p><p>He held his breath, as if that small breeze would blow it out. The tiny flame gave birth to a tiny sphere, crawling with orange waves. He held it in his hand, distantly hearing patters and calls.</p><p>"Is something wrong?"</p><p>And the egg disappeared, as if a figment of his imagination, the small niche grew dark and Feliks glanced at the tiny candle lighting it. "Just that you found me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Table of Contents

**Author's Note:**

> No chapters /need/ to be read besides whichever one you're interested in, however oftentimes they can offer more closure or background.

1 Dancing in the Rain - Franada

> _He laughs in response, pulling off his hat. "I wasn't reprimanding... would you like some music?"_
> 
> _"I-I suppose I would." He answers flushed, "But like I said! It was an accident, I'm leaving now, anyway."_
> 
> _He comes even nearer, holding his hand out as if asking for a dance. "Why stop now? You just received music and a partner."_

2 Phoenix Feathers Part 1 - LietPol

> _He held his breath, as if that small breeze would blow it out. The tiny flame gave birth to a tiny sphere, crawling with orange waves. He held it in his hand, distantly hearing patters and calls._
> 
> _"Is something wrong?"_
> 
> _And the egg disappeared, as if a figment of his imagination, the small niche grew dark and Feliks glanced at the tiny candle lighting it. "Just that you found me."_

3 Lady Delirium - Netherlands/Belarus

> _Natalia looks at the town, the view showing the town's entrapment in hills, and she says, "They have_ some _security."  
> _
> 
> _"Not enough to hold in the dashing...." Lars trails off, and the air tickles his ear as if laughing at the awkward turn._
> 
> _"The dashing Natalia."_
> 
> _"Nor the dapper Lars."_

4 Phoenix Feathers Part 2 - LietPol

5 We're Happier Than We Say We Are - Spamano

6 Ancestry - South Korea/Hong Kong

7 Cherry Blossom Tea - Giripan

8 Of Growing Men - USUK

9 Egyptian Nights - Turkey/Egypt

10 Min Kärlek - Sufin

11 Always the Quiet Ones - Estonia/Latvia

12 On Broken Pianos - AusHun

13 Nomads in Green - Romania/Bulgaria

14 Inveneme - GerIta

15 Inveneme: Bis - HRE/Chibitalia (Mini chapter)

16 SMQ/Q - Thailand/Vietnam

17 Sunflower Bread - Russia/Prussia

18 Leo - Australia/New Zealand

19 Dust, Books, and Mysteries - Luxembourg/Monaco

20 Singing Windchimes - DenNor

21 Epilogue - NA/All


	2. Dancing in the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He laughs in response, pulling off his hat. "I wasn't reprimanding... would you like some music?"
> 
> "I-I suppose I would." He answers flushed, "But like I said! It was an accident, I'm leaving now, anyway."
> 
> He comes even nearer, holding his hand out as if asking for a dance. "Why stop now? You just received music and a partner."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written like 5 years ago I swear to god. I did some editing (removed all tildes) but there are some awkward parts

He isn't entirely sure just how long it had been raining.

Days, weeks, months, years? Or maybe just a few hours.

He isn't really sure anymore.

But he finds himself sighing, looking out the window at black skies. The lights had all been extinguished, and all that could be seen were the clouds.

Maybe it wasn't even raining.

If he puts his hands on his ears, thinks loud enough, it would blanket the pattering. The pattering on the roof, the window, the cobblestone streets outside. It would hide some of the distant booms he heard. He could pretend the thunder was simply a nervous thought, every now and then they would skip and jolt.

But he doesn't cover his ears.

The pattering is the only sound left.

His brother went to sleep ages ago, after a hearty dinner with bright lights and rich food.

But now the silence is back.

He's in his room, legs curled under chin on his bed, but not under the sheets. He breathes softly, stretching and walking to the window. He gently pushes out, so the window creaks, hanging on its hinges. The pattering becomes louder, and he can smell the rain, the fresh water hitting the ground or the roof, or, sometimes, him.

His room is on the second floor, but he swings out a leg, then another, until he is being sprayed by the rain, bangs wet and sticking to his forehead and cheek. His shirt, pajama shirt, to be precise, is already somewhat damp, and he jumps down from the window, bracing himself and landing on his bare feet.

He looks frantically around him, but all the rooms have no light, and he smiles triumphantly before running down the street.

The rain turned the street to mud, and he feels his ankles being sprayed every time he lifts the opposite foot, but he can't bring himself to care.

Finally, after a few minutes of running, and feeling substantially wet and tired, he reaches the outskirts of the city. There are a few farms beginning less than a kilometer away, but he's content with the small plain in front of him.

He's soaked to the bone, and he lets out a small shiver, even though the water and the air is warm.

He runs to the middle of the field, laughing before falling onto his knees, drenching his entire lower half in mud. But he steps up off his knees, and the rain washes him off.

After a few minutes of simply standing in the middle of the field, eyes closed and head hanging as if in defeat, he opens his eyes.

Small pebbles of water cling to his eyelashes, and he blinks several times, eyesight blurry.

He holds a hand out, and he grips the air as if another hand is there. He holds out his other hand, palm flat yet cupped, as if a slender waist is present.

And he begins to sway, to dance.

Dancing in the rain.

He turns, his hands accommodating for the invisible woman in his grasp.

If he listens very closely, he can hear the swishing of petticoats and the quiet laughter, the whispered assurances, the soft music in the background.

He smiles lightly, and as he closes his eyes again, he can see the fine dress and the long hair, and the sweet smile.

But when he opens them, he's brought back to the rain.

And the black skies.

"You're not allowed to do that."

Matthew whips around, arms still outstretched, and he mouths wordlessly at the muffled shape in front of him. The voice had carried easily in the rain, and he can hear every syllable.

The shape comes closer, and he can see the outline of a man, his wet garb still bright blue, revealing nobility or at least much more wealth than Matthew. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

"Wh-who are you? Why are you out in the rain?"

The man smiles, an amused twinkle in his eye. "I could ask the same, mon cher. Except I've found it quite obvious just what you are doing." He gestures to a carriage, along with a magnificent black horse, whinnying and braying, "I just arrived."

Matthew blushes at his comment. "I-I didn't mean to... it's a silly rule anyway."

He nods, "You have no partner." He adds, raising an eyebrow.

"You don't need one to dance."

"But there's no music."

"You don't need music either, not really."

The man smiles again, as if proud of what a complete stranger had said. "But it's always nicer with music."

Matthew frowns, why was he so insistent? "Well I'm fine with what I have."

He laughs in response, pulling off his hat. "I wasn't reprimanding... would you like some music?"

"I-I suppose I would." He answers flushed, "But like I said! It was an accident, I'm leaving now, anyway."

He comes even nearer, holding his hand out as if asking for a dance. "Why stop now? You just received music and a partner."

Matthew could easily say something about his brother looking for him, or that the morning was coming soon, (which would have been an outright lie, there were at least three more hours before even the farmers awoke.) but instead he finds himself replying, "I don't hear any music."

"We're talking, aren't we?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Matthew asks, not entirely sure why he was accepting the offered hand.

"I've always believed conversation is a form of music."

He blushes, feeling a hand on his waist. Wait... that wasn't right, was it?

"I never did find out your name."

"M-Matthew Williams."

He winked, pulling Matthew closer. "My name is Francis Bonnefoy, it's nice to meet you Mathieu."

* * *

 

"Matthew!" The call is accompanied with loud banging on the door.

Matthew yawns and shakes his head, the hair still damp but it wasn't showing. "Yes, Al?" he asks quietly, opening the door and narrowly avoiding getting hit in the face.

Alfred is happy about something, his azure blue eyes revealing excitement more than usual. "You remember what day it is today, right!"

"Isn't the councilman visiting today?" He responds, yawning again. "Why are you happy about that?"

Alfred smiled, innocence and happiness exuding from him like a child on his birthday. "Artie was assigned to our district!"

"You hate Sir Kirkland."

"I don't hate him," he says with a pout. "He's just fun to tease!"

Matthew frowns, walking past him to the stairs. They creak as he steps on them, either from the humidity or age. Likely both. Alfred follows him down, and he feels pressured to reply. "Al, I know he's a bit younger than the other councilmen but please don't do anything that will give us a bad verdict. Ms. Hedervary wasn't very happy last time." He looks up at his brother, a pleading note in his eye. "He may take it in good humor, but please don't go too far."

Alfred chuckles in response, "Artie won't get mad at me."

Their mother, Nancy, appears from the side of the room, cheeks slightly flushed and hair wet, jewel-like droplets of water sliding down her normally fluffy bangs. "Don't be silly Alfred, he's always mad at you."

Matthew smiles, petting the timid cat that had trailed behind his mom. "See Al? Maman said so too." the cat curls into the palm of his hand, purring softly.

"Moooom!" Alfred whines, taking the basket of food from his mother. He turns back to see his brother and mom giggling to each other behind him. He pouts again, retaining the innocent, pity-me look even at seventeen years old. "You guys know he doesn't really get mad at me. We've never had a bad verdict before."

Matthew nods, still playing with the cat. "Maybe, but that only means we can't get a bad one even more so."

"Fine, whatever... you're such party-poopers." Alfred finally relents, with a sigh and a flinging of his hands into the air in surrender.

Their discussion is interrupted by a knock on the door and the blood drains from Nancy's face as she quickly straightens her skirts, signaling Alfred and Matthew to finish putting everything away as she pats down her hair, still wet.

The door is opened widely by Nancy, who places a welcoming smile on her face. "Sir Kirkland! We'd heard you were assigned this district."

Arthur smiles lightly, "Please Nancy, you've known me when I was too young an age to call me 'sir'."

Nancy's forced smile flutters into a warmer, albeit somewhat more nervous one. "Arthur, it's always nice to see you."

"You as well."

"Artie!" Alfred cries, launching out of the kitchen. He hasn't seen Arthur for more than a year, not since before his impressive growth spurt, and it takes a humongous bear hug for him to realize he's become taller than the older man. "Whoa... did you shrink?"

Arthur coughs, embarrassed at the new-found height difference between him and the 'boy' he had previously babysat. "Hello to you too Alfred. And quite obviously, you have simply grown a substantial amount since I last saw you." He sees Matthew peering from behind the counter and smiles gently. "I haven't changed just because I became a councilman Matthew... I hope you still think of me in a kind matter."

Matthew shyly walks over, ducking his head between his shoulders. "I didn't think you had Sir."

"I suppose I should do my job, hmm?" Arthur says with a quiet sigh. "Though I'm quite sure you keep your home up to code, as always."

Nancy nods "Of course."

"Though... you did have an open window upstairs. I believe the rain is a bit too dreary for this... would someone care to explain?"

"Not my room!"

"I'm afraid I'm not entirely sure either."

Matthew drops his head, looking down at the floor. "Sorry Arthur, it was me... there was a butterfly in my room and I was just letting it out."

Arthur nods, accepting the excuse. He knows it's an excuse- there's no reason for butterflies. "I think we all know I wasn't going to give you a bad verdict, I'll quickly dash upstairs and be out of your hair and into the rain again."

"I'll go with you!" Alfred calls, racing behind him up the stairs. Nancy smiles happily, humming under her breath.

"Maman..."

She gasps and stops humming, looking fearfully at where Arthur had been moments before. "I'm sorry Matthew, I hadn't noticed."

He shakes his head frantically, clutching the honey-colored cat closer. "It's fine maman." He breathes.

Alfred comes back down the stairs mysteriously happy, but Matthew decides not to question him. Although the temptation was hard to resist when the normally composed Arthur came down a few seconds later, his face bright red.

* * *

 

He closes the window this time.

He isn't entirely sure why he leaves today, he was sure he would've been able to sleep had he tried his hardest, but it surely isn't because he wants to meet 'Francis' again.

At least, he doesn't think so.

It's dangerous to go out the day after the visit, but it's also dangerous to go out the day before, or, really, any day. So that doesn't stop him. He hits the ground with a splash again, although he is more aware of the wet on his ankles and shins, soaking into his clothes. He shivers again, this time uncomfortable. The entire experience is different. As if his self-awareness was all it took. He's panting at the edge of the town, and he begins to walk. At the sight of the hill, he denies the slight pang of sadness at no silhouette of a man in a pale blue jacket.

Why did he come out in the rain, anyway?

He trudges up to the top of the hill anyway, and the anxiety and fatigue washes off the moment he hits the top. He forgets about the man and falls onto his back. It's raining less now, a drizzle, and it mists his face. Leaving him just as wet as before with a more pleasant way of reaching the final result.

"Here again, mon cher."

Matthew's eyes flutter open and he looks forward half-lidded. He stares at the sky a few seconds more before turning, everything blurred without his glasses. Though it might be the drizzle. Or the half-lidded eyes. All he sees is a slight outline, and the color blue. Blue again. "Francis?"

He can hear the smirk he can't see. "You remembered my name."

"It's only been a day."

"Much can happen in a day."

"Like what?" He murmurs, blinking lazily.

"One who was dancing, could end up lying on the ground."

He uses the hand that had landed next to his head to swipe back his hair, one lone curl landing back on his face. "I'm sorry?" He grins nervously.

"Don't apologize."

Matthew grows tired of not being able to see the expressions on the other man, the implications in his tone too tempting to resist. He fumbles near his head for his glasses- a few centimeters from his shoulder. He blinks a few times until he can clearly see the blonde man crouching next to him. "I'm s- I won't."

"So no dancing today?"

"Did you want me to dance?"

"I won't force you to dance."

Matthew smiles shakily. Sitting up, his limbs feel both lighter and dead at the same time- he brings himself to his feet slowly- as if it were painful. "I think I'd quite like to dance, actually."

"Then let us dance." Francis stands as well, more gracefully, and he gives a curious look to Matthew.

"And speaking is music..." Matthew whispers, once more finding himself in Francis's grasp.

Francis's hand is cold, wet, but so is everything else, and Matthew doesn't notice. Or he chooses to ignore it.

"Actually," Francis replies, "We should have some real- excuse me, official music."

"But how?"

"Cannot we simply sing?"

"Sing?" Matthew mumbles, the unfamiliar word falling off his tongue easily. "What is sing?"

Francis's eyes widen, and he swallows thickly, a shocked look in his azure eyes. "You have to ask?" He sighs, a bitter tone in his voice. "I'm not sure how to explain... when someone makes music with their voice?"

Matthew tilts his head, swaying gently in the mist.

"Let me show you... _"_

_"Do, do, l'enfant do_

_L'enfant dormira bien vite_

_Do, do, l'enfant do_

_L'enfant dormira bientôt_

it is a lullaby."

"French?" Matthew asks hesitantly.

"Oui. Do you speak it?"

He blushes and nods, mumbling a response, "Y-yes, but I've been told I have a difficult accent."

Francis frowns, a collected drop of water slipping off his eyelash onto his cheek, looking almost like a tear traveling down his face. "Say something?"

"W-what should I say?"

"Anything is fine."

"Um, okay then... bonjour, m-mon nom est Matthew Williams et je suis originaire du Canada. Je ne peux pas parler français très bien cependant."

"I understand what you meant by the accent." Francis says, closing his eyes and flashing a small smile.

Matthew blushes a livid red, and he decides to change the subject. "That was singing?"

"Yes."

"It sounds a bit like what maman does."

Francis opens his eyes curiously, "What does 'maman' do?"

"I'm not sure... it sounds like growling but it's not- it sounds like music." He gestures to his throat.

"Can you show me?"

"I'm not sure how to do it..."

Francis smiles encouragingly, the hand no longer holding Matthew's hangs loosely at his side.

"Um," Matthew continues blushing, but he lets out a scratchy noise from his throat, a keening sound. Francis chuckles and he frantically shuts his mouth. The keening continues, but he eventually tunes it into a soft humming- a replicate of the song Francis had just sung.

"Humming." Francis murmurs softly. At some point he had moved closer to the Canadian- their chests close yet not touching, and his chin was resting on Matthew's shoulder, his shoulders hunched. His soft voice was near to Matthew's ear, making the silent sound reverberate through his eardrums and feel like a thousand decibels. "What you're doing- it's called humming."

"I didn't know it had a name."

Francis breaks away from the dance, a look of fury, pity and sadness in his eyes. It's quickly erased and replaced by the normal twinkle and amusement. "You have a beautiful voice. I'm sure any song you sing would be beautiful."

"Song?" Matthew asks, before thinking for a few moments and understanding what the Frenchman was talking about. "I- I don't think so... I'm not even sure how to do it."

"I can teach you."

* * *

 

"Get up, idiot."

Francis falls out of the bed abruptly, the cold air suddenly extremely apparent with the new lack of bed sheets. "Mon dieu, Arthur... that was unnecessarily crude."

Arthur grumbles, tossing the thick covers onto a nearby chair. "Where have you been going?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Halfway to morning. Twice now, where have you been going?"

Francis chuckles, stretching and flitting through the wardrobe. "What are you doing up that early?"

"Francis!" Arthur cries flinging his arms out in exasperation. "I can't have my reputation ruined, everyone's already wary of me because of my age!"

He decides on a red suit, pulling it on. "Simply for a stroll."

"In the middle of the night? In the rain!"

"It's always raining here." Francis says quietly.

Arthur sighs and collapses onto the same chair holding the sheets. "Please Francis, don't ruin my chances just for another conquest."

His head collapses into his hands, and Francis refrains from asking him what's wrong. But only for a second. "What happened?"

"Nothing you need to know." He sighs.

"Why yes, hypocrisy does suit you well."

"I was assigned a district."

"As were all other councilmen, besides myself."

Arthur sighs again, "Friends of mine were in the district. A family, to be precise."

"And?" Francis looks down at the dejected figure of his friend and enemy. "We all have exceptions."

"Something happened... it doesn't matter."

"I won't ask anymore." He says, re-making his bed. "But whatever's wrong, take care of it."

"The same to you."

"...They don't know what singing is."

Arthur looks at the floor, his expression guilty. "I know."

Francis glares at the window, at the fat raindrops hitting the glass.

* * *

 

The rain was heavy again. After the thin mist from the night, the renewed downpour seemed almost surreal. Matthew turns back to face his brother. "A what?"

"A consul. They choose two from across the country every year. Some people call them the traveling councilmen." The shine in Alfred's eye grows, and Matthew can't help but smile as well.

"The year just started... did they pick someone this year?"

"Yeah, some guys from Poland or France or something. Actually, it might have been Russia..."

"France, eh. I'd like to go there sometime..." Matthew admits quietly, figuring he may as well reveal a dream of his own.

"Traveling councilman! Doesn't that sound totally awesome?" Alfred interrupts, staring up at something or other. "And I hear no one ever knows when they're in their town. They stay with some other councilman or something, and they do all their work in secret!"

"Sounds like a lot of work."

Alfred shakes his head. "Maybe, but it's totally worth it!"

"How?" His brother asks curiously. "Just what do they do? What do they get?"

"That's the point! No one knows!"

* * *

 

The rain stops.

Everyone in the town rejoices, but they can see the clouds behind the patch of sun. They know it will be short lived. But they rejoice anyhow, merchants lower prices for the hour or so left till closing. Permitted establishments open their windows, letting the sun stream in and the humid stench is ignored.

But it scares Matthew.

The dead of the night, and the rain still hasn't come back in. He isn't sure whether to go, whether it will be the same- or if Francis will be there at all.

He's beginning to think he was just a mirage, always a mirage. And he'll leave with the rain.

But he goes anyway, and he walks this time, the distance longer without the rain to purge him from the town.

He's feels more nervous, more visible, more vulnerable.

But when his fears are banished, the feelings go away. Or at least hide themselves better.

"Someday, Mathieu, I will take you away."

The comment is whispered, and barely heard over Matthew's singing. He feels the comment would have been creepy, if it weren't for the way he had said it. Quiet, subtle hints of hope and pain, a miserable smile present.

"Why?" Matthew seems surprised, and he stares at Francis as if seeing him for the first time.

"Everyone needs to see the world. And I believe the world should see you, as well."

"All I need is here." Matthew protests. "I love this town, I could never leave it."

Francis shakes his head sadly, "You don't know what this town is." He replies weakly.

"You don't know who I am."

The rain finally starts again, carrying the single, lonesome note to the woods at the end of the field.

* * *

 

He certainly wasn't expecting the Briton on his bed. Normally he would have made some lewd joke, thrown a wink or two, but he could see the stony expression on his face. "Arthur? What are you doing on my bed?"

"You're leaving tomorrow. Don't bring up his hopes." He smiled lightly, not sadly, and hopped off the bed, back to his own room.

* * *

 

They were lying a bit further back on the hill this time. The air was warm even with the rain. "I'm amazed we haven't gotten a cold yet." Matthew says jokingly, his hands behind his head and eyes closed.

"I still don't know why you came up here in the first place."

"I'm not entirely sure myself." Francis hums in understanding, nodding his head even if Matthew can't see it. "At first, I think I just wanted to run, you know?" He snorts and opens an eye, seeing the other man sitting next to him from the corner of his eye. "I'm glad I met you, though."

"As am I."

Matthew closes the eye again. "Why?"

"Hm?"

"Why are you glad you met me?" Matthew asks bluntly. "You've taught me so much, about music, dancing, singing... even if I can never use it."

"You could use it," Francis starts, "If you came with me."

"I've told you, I can't leave here. My family's here, my friends are here..." He turns so his back is facing him. His elbow covers his face and protects him from the light spray. "I'm here."

"Don't you get tired of the rain?"

"I don't know why it's been raining so much..." Francis is silent. They sit together in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, broken by Matthew. "I used to have a friend."

He nods, supposing Matthew must mean to make some point from the statement.

"I knew her when I was young, and still couldn't pronounce everything perfectly. I always used to have trouble with her name, 'Yekaterina Katyusha'. I'm still not sure if it was one name or two. I would- I would pronounce it- well, badly, it doesn't matter how." He chuckles softly at the memory. "But I would always insist on saying her full name whenever I saw her. One day, her younger brother, Ivan, got mad at me for it. He was just this little shrimp back then, always dressed in tatty clothes and running from this other kid with a mask. I've heard he's some big guy now, real tough, but when I knew him he was just a little kid. And Al-" Matthew paused, "my older brother Alfred, protected me from him. And ever since then, they always used to fight each other until Ivan and Yekaterina Katyusha, they left the town."

"Were you sad they left?" Francis asks, beginning to understand where the boy was heading to.

Matthew lets out a puff of air, crystallizing in the air before being dragged down again by the rain. "Not me, no. But they had a younger sister, Natalia. She's still here. She- she's not well. Not physically sick, but... she thinks her brother is still here, she'll talk with him, with her sister." Another exhale. "They call her cursed, but everyone knows she's just lonely, driven insane by the rain maybe."

"Matthew,"

"Yes?"

Francis considers not telling him, but he could see the innocence in Matthew decrease simply by being near him. He didn't want to crush it completely. "Matthew, mon cherie, there's something you should know." He sighs. "I have stayed longer than originally planned, and I'm afraid I need to leave."

"Blunt, eh?"

"I'm sorry Mathieu. I meant to tell you sooner."

Matthew nods, his back still to Francis. "Thank you for telling me."

Francis can see the dismissal in the Canadian's posture, and he dejectedly stands up, ignoring the guilt eating his lungs and keeping him from breathing.

"Will you be back?"

"Yes" Francis concedes, "In a year."

"I see."

"Come with me, Math-"

"Goodbye, Francis." Matthew doesn't turn around, not from fear, or sadness, but from the numbness that had entangled his limbs. He isn't even surprised, he realizes. Perhaps he's always been a pessimist.

The air is warm, even with the rain, but it feels much colder now.

* * *

 

"I'm nineteen! You can't boss me around!"

"I can always boss you around, you sodding twat!"

Alfred pouts, his new glasses falling onto his nose. "No fair!" He whines. "You cheated!"

"At what?" Arthur asks bewildered. "We weren't playing anything!"

"I know you were cheating at something!"

"That's just ridiculous! Matthew, you agree!"

Matthew widens his eyes at the sudden role in the argument. "Eh?"

"No, Mattie agrees with me!"

Matthew shakes his head frantically, not wanting to be dragged in. "What are you two arguing about anyway!"

"Who remembers!" Shouts Alfred in unjustifiable anger.

Matthew rolls his eyes and walks out of the room, figuring the two idiots could reach a conclusion on their own.

"They're still arguing?" Nancy giggles from her chair. She picks at her embroidery, a mess of red, gold and purple besides the small area of perfect crown where Arthur has helped her.

"Yeah..." Matthew begins to laugh too. About a year ago, Alfred and Arthur had gotten into a large conflict, leaving them both torn. He had somehow ended up between the two as some sort of mediator, but they had eventually reconciled, though they argued much more than they used to. "Though I think they may have just stopped or something. At least, I hope they have."

Nancy smiles with a crinkle in her eyes, "They're always like that nowadays, huh."

"At each others' throats you mean?"

Arthur walks out of the room he and Alfred had been in seconds later, nodding to them. "Excuse me, but I'm afraid I have someone visiting my home right now and have to take care of their lazy arse."

Alfred is right behind him, and he takes the chance to say, "Seriously? You totally have to let us meet him!"

"I'm not sure that would be the best of ideas."

"Come on, why not?" He grins, knowing Arthur will eventually fold.

For a few minutes Arthur holds Alfred's gaze, eyebrows twitching as the stand off.

He sighs, "Fine. Who's coming with me?"

"Oh no, I'll just stay here." Nancy says with a shake of the head. Matthew nods as if to say him too, but Alfred quickly snatched his wrist and drags him outside where Arthur is waiting.

"Matthew?"

"Um, I suppose I'm coming."

Arthur laughs nervously, "Are you certain about that?"

"Why can't he come?"

"I just mean, he may not want to..."

"It's fine, I can stay here if you two wanna be alone." Matthew interjects.

He negates the thought with a furious shake of the head, "No, that's not it at all. Just- he just got in, so don't get mad at him."

"I won't?"

Arthur continues frowning the mysterious frown, and leads them down the road. It's dry, the last rain over a week ago, and the dust sticks to Matthew's shoes. There hadn't been such a draught in months. They arrive at Arthur's house- larger, nicer, than theirs. Councilmen's privileges.

Alfred is babbling about something or other, Arthur commenting every now and then, but Matthew is silent, tugged every now and then by his brother.

"Frog's probably still asleep." Arthur grumbles, knocking on a cream-colored door. The door creaks open with deceivingly decorated hinges, and the light hits Matthew's eyes.

He was almost always wearing blue.

"Francis?"

"It really is different without the rain."


	3. Phoenix Feathers (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He held his breath, as if that small breeze would blow it out. The tiny flame gave birth to a tiny sphere, crawling with orange waves. He held it in his hand, distantly hearing patters and calls.
> 
> "Is something wrong?"
> 
> And the egg disappeared, as if a figment of his imagination, the small niche grew dark and Feliks glanced at the tiny candle lighting it. "Just that you found me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another old fic, a bit less shippy (at least this part) and more plot heavy.

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The brilliant amber bird flung out her wings, wisps flying off and hiding in the smokey night sky. The phoenix flapped majestically, growing higher, larger, brighter, hotter. She encased his house in her glowing embrace, her cries to the sky broken and crackling. Her breath was dry and hot, her tongue of smoke licking the hidden stars. The windows of the house had turned black- or rather, millions of pricks of deep brown stained the glass, and he could just barely see-

"Feliks!" The desperate cry came from behind him, and he turned to see a short and stoutly brunette running toward him desperately.

"Mummy!" He giggled. "Isn't she cute?"

She didn't respond, leaning down and swooping him up, fearfully glancing behind her as she ran further and further from the great beast.

"Mummy?"

"Sh Feliks, mummy can't talk now." Her breath was labored and her cheek hot against his.

"Mummy? What's wrong, mummy?"

"Sh, Feliks, sh."

* * *

 

"This is where you'll be staying from now on."

Feliks looked around the room and up at the man speaking. "Who are you?" He asked quietly, drinking in the appearance of an old wiry man.

"My name is Nikolas Winters." He gave a small smile and added, "People call me Winters."

"General Winters." Feliks looked around to see the boy who had spoken, an older boy who sitting next to a nervous girl. "We call you General Winters."

"Yes, I suppose you do."

"My name is Feliks." He said timidly.

The children in the room introduced themselves. A shaking boy in a loose maroon coat was Raivis, the brunette next to him Toris. The girl with two barrettes said her name was Yekaterina Katyusha, but he should call her Katyusha 'or Katya!' and told him the boy near the table was Eduard.

"Ivan." The boy from earlier said. He seemed to command the attention around him, and Feliks saw the boy-Raivis? shaking more fiercely than he had before.

"It's nice to meet you all."

General Winters laughed kindly and knelt down to the polish boy's eye level. "No need to look so frightened, little man. Why don't you tell us about yourself? What do you like?"

Like? What did he like? Feliks wasn't even entirely sure. He saw from his peripheral vision Yekaterina give an encouraging nod, and he remembered something he liked. A bird- a beautiful bird he had only seen once. That flew higher and sung brighter than anything he'd seen before or since, it's copper wings fanning out as if to invite the world to a dance. So yes, he had something he liked.

"Fire- I like fire."

* * *

 

"You don't have to be nervous here." Toris was kind, Feliks had soon learned. "Everyone's just like you." They had ended up in the same room, lack of space making several people share rooms. Theirs was larger, for obvious reasons, and the difference between them was obvious. While Toris's side of the room was decorated in personal quirks Feliks quickly recorded, Feliks had simply a charred photograph laying on his pillow.

Feliks thought back on it. It was true, they were all at an orphanage- all alone, with the exception of Ivan and his sister. "We have the same conditions. We're not the same."

Toris looked almost painfully at him, his face drawn in and his arms squeezing a ratty donkey toy. "You'll learn Feliks, we only want to help."

"I believe you." Feliks pushed himself against the frame of the bed, his feet dangling centimeters above the ground and he toppled off, giggling and contorting himself back up. "Why is everyone so scared?"

"What?"

"Of Ivan."

Toris didn't respond.

* * *

 

Golden Oak Orphanage was located in a valley. The fifth largest valley in the Ulhna mountain range, Anguis valley had few buildings. There was a small market which sold goods that came from the main town of the mountain, Yuxor, an even smaller butcher, other knick-knack like buildings, and most importantly, the orphanage.

Feliks found a home at Golden Oak. It was impossible not to. Even Ivan's slightly eerie behavior became familiar after three years.

"Feliks! Take that off!" Yekaterina crashed into the hallway, her face bright red and hair flopped on top of her shoulders.

"I- don't- want too!" Feliks spun around and stuck his tongue out at her. He flipped the mid-length grey skirt up at her and ran away laughing while she blushed and stammered.

"Feliks!"

"What did he do now?"

Yekaterina turned to face Toris, "He stole my old- well, just look at him!"

Feliks stopped at the newcomer's voice and called out, "Hey, Toris! Did you know Yeka wore skirts before the farmer phase?"

"Feliks, are you wearing-"

"Yup!"

Yekaterina darted her eyes from Toris's inquiring ones and pulled him after her down the hall. "Don't ask questions! Just help me catch him!"

They finally caught him a few minutes later, Toris bright red from running alongside Yekaterina- who had grown quite a bit over the years. Feliks was hiding between two doors, lying crumpled on the floor with the grey skirt encircling him, his eyes glazed over as he stared at something in his hand. He looked up at the two panting teens, hair falling into half-drawn eyes and Toris decided he looked quite a bit like a mourning wife.

"Is something wrong?" He asked hesitantly.

"Just that you found me." And then he was back to the same old Feliks, jumping up and brushing non-existant specks off the skirt. "But it's fine. I look better in pink, anyway."

* * *

 

It was a tiny flicker. The wind had complete control, swaying left, right. But there was barely any wind here.

Feliks was enamored.

He held his breath, as if that small breeze would blow it out. The tiny flame gave birth to a tiny sphere, crawling with orange waves. He held it in his hand, distantly hearing patters and calls.

"Is something wrong?"

And the egg disappeared, as if a figment of his imagination, the small niche grew dark and Feliks glanced at the tiny candle lighting it. "Just that you found me."

* * *

 

Toris felt his eyes flutter slowly open, and he spent the hazy stupor that came after waking staring at the ceiling and philosophizing. He felt a small tug at his scalp and diminished it as the effect of thinking too hard. When he felt it a second time, however, he decided to face the facts. "Feliks."

"Yes?"

"Are you braiding my hair?"

"Yes."

"Will it take me an hour to undo?"

"Well, I won't let you undo it, so... no." Toris sighed and sat up, his hair slipping out of the blond's grasp. "Hey! I was working on that."

"Mr. Adnan's coming today. General Winters will be upset if I show up like this." He began to pull his hair from the arrangement when he felt a small tug and saw Feliks concentrating on fixing the other half. "Thanks."

Feliks pouted out of his vision, ruffling the hair when he was done undoing it. "It's not like I'm happy about it." He tucked the brunette's head under his chin. "If there's a chance for you to leave, I need you to take it."

Toris paused at the sad remark, spinning around and smiling at Feliks. "I'm not going anywhere without you."

"Come on, Toris. You've been here longer than me. You should know how many people say that."

To be honest, Sadiq Adnan scared Feliks. But considering Ivan's reaction, he supposed he must have seemed indifferent. Mr. Adnan was a massive Turk, and his eyes were constantly shadowed by his bangs or hat. It was enough to give any of the orphans an eerie feeling, except, apparently, the young and shy Trince, who had attached himself like a shadow to the visitor.

And so, the orphanage lost a citizen that day.

* * *

 

Feliks fell into the snow with a jubilant cry, the wide pink muffler only protecting him so far. He shook off the drops and laughed, "I've never seen so much snow."

"Yeah, It gets pretty bad here."

"I like it so it can't be bad!" He shivered as the wet snow began seeping past the first layer of his clothes.

Eduard saw the shiver, sighing and kneeling down next to him. "Just because you like something doesn't mean it's good. Come on, we have to go."

Feliks pouted but listened to the older boy, using him as a stand while he brushed snow off his shins. Ivan signaled for them to hurry up, and they began their way to the store.

Toris made his way routinely through the shop, calling Ivan to reach the highest shelf and Yekaterina for advice on the best-quality pasta- it was always the one handmade by the Italian who lived nearby. He spotted Feliks staring down the aisle, nibbling on a cookie he had taken from an open package. "Feliks? What are you looking at?"

"What's Ivan doing down there?"

Toris saw the large Russian talking to the German shopkeeper, Ludwig, who was handing Ivan a brown paper bag. "Nothing, he does that every time. Don't worry about it."

"Shouldn't we? I mean," Feliks paused, "It doesn't look right."

"I- I don't think we sh- just, leave it, okay?"

"Fine." Feliks surrenders, keeping an eye on the bickering men. They left the aisle as Ivan said something to Ludwig and turned in the opposite direction.

* * *

 

Yekaterina and Ivan were standing in the doorway, the sister smiling wider than the sun. Ivan had a surprised expression, confetti flitting down from his head to the floor. Feliks and Raivis were giggling at their faces, and Eduard had a smug smile at a new invention successfully pulled off.

"What is this for?" Yekaterina asked giddily.

"What do you think!" Feliks was slouched over Toris, and he held out a small wrapped box. "You didn't expect us to just like, watch you leave, right?"

Yekaterina pulled Ivan toward the Pole, and her hair fell out of the elaborate bun he had made, hitting her waist. "But... how did you know we were leaving?"

"General Winters told us." Toris explained, "You're going to pick up Natalia, aren't you?"

Ivan and Yekaterina looked at each other and he nodded, saying quietly, "We left her there long enough. You think we should have picked her up long ago, da?"

"Da- I mean, yes." Eduard shook his head to clear it, "You barely talked about her since the first year you came here."

Yekaterina stood in front of her brother, clearing her throat. "That's enough. We have to leave soon if we want to make the bus to Yuxor." She mumbled about the rest of the journey, groaning at the list.

Feliks moved away from the brunette, standing up to hug the older girl. "I'll miss you."

"We're only going to be gone for a few months..." Yekaterina said, her voice cracking, "And then you can finally meet Natasha!"

"Of course you are." Feliks nodded, wiping her eye. "Open the present on the bus." He moved away so that the others could speak to them, patting Ivan on the shoulder. He walked toward Toris, who mussed his hair on the way to Ivan and his sister.

He could barely hear what Toris murmured to them, but he didn't care. He quickly sidled out of the room, shushing Raivis when he asked him where he was going and running quietly to his room. After a few minutes of shuffling through the neatly organized small room he finally found the small box he had gotten from Kaoru.

He giggled, running faster up to the roof, where snow was piling onto rock ceiling. He trudged through the thick snow, not noticing the simultaneous crunch behind him. He could see Yekaterina and her brother leave the building, their bodies making small swirls through the snow as his scarf flew behind him. A small tinkling laugh flew up and reached Feliks's ear, and he smiled mischievously. He pulled out a small rock, tiny feathers of flame spurting as he hit it against the stone encasement. He lit the string dangling from the box and threw it above the swirling figures, more emerging from the building as the box began to hiss and snap, pops echoing in the evergreen forest. There was a sound behind him but he ignored it, instead focusing on the response.

Yekaterina called out, and Feliks could see her look up towards the sky, where a small crimson sparrow was shaking off her feathers. The feathers winked out before the hit the ground, and he watched from the specialty view as the rest of the orphanage hollered and cheered. Ludwig and Niels left their shops in the distance, the sight of the dancing birds visible from afar.

After the birds stopped flying, the siblings disappeared into the forest, and the valley was quiet again.

* * *

 

Toris heard the snow crunch loudly under his feet, but somehow the skipping blonde in front of him didn't seem to notice. Feliks ran to the ledge of the roof, leaning dangerously down to see whatever was on the ground. He giggled and pulled out a small rock. Toris just noticed the box in his other hand, and he moved closer, wondering what it was. Feliks took the rock and quickly started a spark, gazing at it for a few seconds before lighting the box. He threw it out over the edge, and Toris ran nearer, worried about whatever was in the box.

However, rather than burning and falling harmfully, it exploded.

Toris gasped and backed away, his instincts telling him to run, but he noticed Feliks watch calmly, and realized the box hadn't actually exploded. Rather, it had turned into millions of sparks, flickering downward in what looked like fountains.

Feliks was still watching, but the giggling had subsided and he now seemed almost melancholic. Toris's mind flashed back to when he had seen him in the hallway.

It was then he realized what had happened.

* * *

 

"You've fallen in love with Katya."

Feliks dropped his spoon, and as it fell on the table it made the dull tone easily distinguishable as wood-on-wood. "I what?"

"Katyusha." Toris nodded, affirming his statement, "You like her."

"I don't like Yekaterina..." Feliks blushed and shook his head, giggling. "She's an older sister to me."

"You don't have to pretend!" Toris forced out a reassuring smile, "She's really nice."

"Toris-"

"Don't deny it!" He said, spooning more watery oatmeal into his mouth.

Feliks shook his head, picking up the spoon and laying it next to his bowl. "I really don't, Toris. Maybe, I might have. At some point. But no, I-" He stood from his seat, surprising the others and after a pardon from Nikolas moved to the kitchen.

Eduard raised an eyebrow from across the table, and he smirked as Raivis shook his head. "Maybe you shouldn't have brought that up here."

"You weren't supposed to be listening."

Raivis sighed, but he was drowned out by Eduard laughing and saying something about dubious implications. He hit the laughing Estonian on the back of the head and cleared his throat. "Toris, I know you can be pretty thick sometimes, but now you've proven you're not actually dumb, you're just so dense it takes you four years for information to travel through your skull." The statement was very unlike Raivis, and after saying it he immediately turned back to his oatmeal.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that maybe, by some fate, you'll learn who he actually likes in four years." He rolled his eyes, adding, "For your sake, I just hope it will still be true."

Toris couldn't understand either of them, and as the rest of the table slowly dissipated towards their respective rooms, he left his oatmeal untouched and tried to comprehend what they had been talking about.

Nothing came to mind.

* * *

 

Ivan's room was newly cleaned, swept daily even after he had left. There was a small pile of freshly laundered clothes on his bed, ratty trousers on ratty bedclothes. There was simply a bed, shelf, and desk, including a hand-crafted chair. His window was closed, panels of glass looking over the beginnings of the knotty mountains. Small knick-knacks occupied most of the shelf, the rest by books and clothes, works in both English and Russian. There was a thick book on his pillow, cyrllic writing on the cover. Feliks assumed it was a bible.

He wandered from the door to the bed, sitting down next to the pile of clothes as he decided whether or not to look through his friend's room. He stood back up, examining the items on the shelf. There was a small knit doll, old ink quills, and wooden dice, among others, and a paper bowl containing bottle caps was decorated with borders Ivan had drawn.

On the taller shelves there were knives, small sharpened stones and box of matches. There was an old frayed piece of cloth with a brand of some store on it, black border crawling up the sides and encasing a neatly written Jhonguo. He didn't recognize the brand, and he placed the fabric back on the shelf.

Feliks thought again, and left the room.

* * *

 

"Don't look at me like that!"

"Like what? I don't know what you're talking about!"

"I-I'm not! Stop it!"

Eduard clenched his fists, looked at Raivis once last time and sighed, spinning around and leaving the shaking boy on his own. Toris had just witnessed the end of the fight, but he walked over to comfort the short boy, whose tears were streaming down his face and over his mouth. "Raivis, are you okay?" He asked calmly.

Raivis shook his head, clutching Toris's wrist and sniffing. "I'm sick of Eduard always-" He hiccuped, and Toris began leading him to his room, "-pitying us l-like that. He h-has no right! He is in the exact s-same boat, but he thinks h-he's so much better than us!"

From his peripheral vision, Toris noticed Feliks storm into the room Eduard had gone into. He hummed silently, squeezing Raivis's shoulder. "How long have you thought this?"

"I c-can't remember him not being like this-" His tears were making way for grit teeth and fury, and he shook his head, pushing away Toris. "It's fine. This has happened before, just let it be."

"Raivis-"

"This is between Eduard and me. Just let it be." He repeated.

* * *

 

Eduard was sitting stiffly on an old couch, furling and unfurling his fingers into a fist, his jaw tight with anger. As Feliks swept through the room, he turned to face the newcomer and narrowed his eyes. "What do you want? You think it was my fault?"

"I'm like, not really sure what happened, so don't ask me. My elastics are in this room, that's all." Feliks replied. "Don't think it's all about you."

"I just figured-"

"Don't figure then." Feliks cocked his head to the side, picking up a rubber band and stringing his hair through it into a low ponytail. "Since you brought it up, are you gonna tell me or what?"

The taller shook his head, a light red visible beneath green eyes. "He just misunderstood something."

"Perfect! This way you can tell me two things; what he misunderstood and what you really meant." When Eduard didn't respond, he rolled his eyes and continued, "I'm going to find out either way, you know that, so either you can tell me, or two misunderstandings will happen."

He opened his mouth, shutting it again with a click of teeth and shook his head, "I was just looking at him. I don't-" He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, "I really don't know what I did."

* * *

 

"Goddamn fucking councilmen."

The orphanage had gathered around the entrance to welcome Yekaterina and Ivan back, but the celebration never began as Ivan rammed through the crowd, ferally pulling his scarf from his neck. His sister moved as if to follow him, her lips parted anxiously, but when she noticed the shocked audience she stayed behind, biting her lip and explaining. The town they had lived in, when they still lived with their late parents, had a few peculiar rules, she said. "It seems, in the time we were gone, Natasha was sent to an," She grimaced, glaring at the carpet, "An asylum. It was her choice to give us the last two openings, and she would stay behind-" Her voice broke, and she quickly fled after her brother, leaving the others bewildered. She threw off her coat as she ran, and Feliks barely noticed her hair had been chopped to below the ear before she had turned to the stairs.

"They didn't want to leave her behind, they didn't even know about her choice." A voice said. The orphans turned to see General Winters closing the door, and he continued placidly, "I still regret it myself."

"Where is Natalia?" Eduard asked, "Why isn't she here?"

"They had to leave her." Feliks guessed, his voice hollow, brimming with a mixture between pity and anger. "Again."


End file.
